Waiting
by Rhianna-Aurora
Summary: One lonely night in the forest, Marian contemplates the fact that she seems to have spent much of her life waiting for him. Marian/Robin. A little angst, a whole lotta fluff.


**A/N:** This is my first foray into writing for this particular universe, and I'm a little nervous about it. But I really wanted to write something for this pairing, because I absolutely _love_ them, and they have quickly taken over my brain. :) I enjoyed writing this one, so I hope you will enjoy reading it.

_**Waiting**_

Waiting for Robin. It seemed like a good portion of her life had been about that, and tonight was no different.

The night air was cold, and even curled up in the bunk near Djaq, wrapped in blankets, the chill bit all the way to Marian's bones. Robin hadn't returned yet, and though none of the others had seemed worried -- except Much, but then, Much was _always_ worried -- Marian was filled with a sense of disquiet.

She _should _be used to him not being near. He'd once been gone for five years, and the absence hadn't killed her. Though there had been times when she had thought that it might.

But she'd been a girl then. A girl whose entire life had been about proving that she was just as capable of taking care of herself as the boys, while at the same time, carrying on as if she didn't give one whit about what _he _thought or did.

In her heart, though, her foolish, girly heart, she had always _known_ that one day,she would be Lady of Locksley, wife of that blue-eyed boy, mother of his blue-eyed children. Deep down, she knew that the reason behind her willfulness was more than just stubborn pride. Deep down, she just wanted him to be looking at _her_; to think about _her_ the same way she constantly thought about him.

Of course, him looking at her hadn't really ever been a problem. They had always been friends, the best kind of friends. They spent the daylight hours traipsing all over Locksley and the surrounding fields and woods, and at night, he would sneak to her window sometimes, and they would talk 'til the sun came up.

He loved her, of that much she was certain. What she wasn't certain about was if he loved her the same way she loved him.

He'd always been a shameless flirt with all the village girls, and Marian hated to admit that sometimes, it made her a little jealous. She wondered if he recited the same sonnets to them that he sometimes recited to her. She had always brushed off his grand overtures and declarations by calling them "drivel and nonsense", because she was far too proud to admit that it flattered her, that it warmed her all the way to her toes. When he'd look into her eyes and tell her that she was lovely, or clever, or wonderful, she would allow herself for a moment to believe he might really mean that. She'd allow herself just one moment to get lost in the fantasy of being _his_, completely and forever.

And then she would remember the way he had been laughing with the baker's daughter, and her reverie would be broken. She would do her level best to act as though he had no affect on her whatsoever. She wasn't going to be one of those other girls, giggling and simpering idiots that they were, hanging onto his every word as if he hung the moon and stars.

No, that was something that Marian would _never_ do.

Sighing heavily, annoyed with her wandering thoughts that weren't allowing her to sleep, Marian rolled onto her back, careful not to disturb Djaq, who was sleeping soundly.

"Pointless," she breathed after a moment of staring blankly into the dark nothingness of the forest. There was no moon this night, or, if there was, it was hidden by the clouds. She tossed the covers aside, and made her way quietly toward the big old oak that served as a sort of sentinel for the camp of Robin and his "lads".

She leaned against it, the bark cool against her forehead. For some reason, the cold air didn't have the same effect on her out here as it had when she'd been lying in her bunk. Maybe it was because this oak reminded her of the oak back home, and it had always been a comfort to her. The oak was a symbol of strength and resilience. It was _unflinchingly _unbending. It was an oath and a promise; the past and the future.

It was Robin.

On her sixteenth birthday, her father had announced that she was betrothed. It had been arranged when she was three-years-old, he told her, with the stipulation that the arrangement could be annulled at any time before the wedding, if it seemed a poor match. With a twinkle in his kind eyes, Edward had said that he didn't think that would be a problem in this case.

She had been furious, and sick to her stomach. She had _always _just assumed that someday she would marry Robin. Surely, she had told herself every time she'd seen him flirting with the other village girls, surely, he'd realize that she was so much _better_ than those girls! Smarter and stronger and faster and …

_Oh_. Maybe that had been precisely the problem. Robin had always treated her like one of the boys. They talked about the best way to build forts, and he showed her how to correctly shoot a bow, and how to fight with a sword. And she was _good_ at those things, and sometimes she could even best him. But those were the same sorts of things he did with Much and the other boys in town.

He wouldn't want to marry a _boy_, of course. He'd want to marry a nice, quiet girl, a lady who knew how to properly stitch and cook and all those other things that Marian just _hated_ to do. He'd marry a girl who didn't sneer at his attempts at poetry, one who didn't punch him in the nose and order him from her sight _for the rest of his life_ for trying to kiss her once when she was twelve.

She had been a fool. And now, she would have to marry some unknown man, someone who wouldn't _understand _that she wasn't a meek and docile little mouse. All her training and endless days of running about the fields to impress the only boy she had ever wanted would be for _nothing_ now.

Tears in her eyes, she had started to beg her father reconsider, but it was at that precise moment that Robin had showed up at their house. Not wanting to cry in front of him, she had bitten her lip hard, and greeted him formally, looking at him and feeling miserable and jealous at the as-yet-unknown beautiful lady that would someday come and take him away from her. She had wondered fleetingly if he would hate the man she was betrothed to, too.

"You've told her, haven't you?" he had asked her father, his eyes full of concern as they looked at her face. "Marian, I understand that you might be angry about this, but I promise you that I …"

"Wait." Marian had put up her hand. "You … _know_ about this?"

Edward looked at Robin apologetically. "I haven't explained it all to her yet," he had said.

Robin nodded. "Well, that's good, then, I think. I was starting to think it was me."

"Will you both _kindly_ stop talking as though I'm not here?" she had snapped. She turned to Robin. "What exactly is it that you are doing here, and why _exactly_ is it that you know about my … my … betrothal?" She had choked on the word.

Edward had shrugged then, and Robin had turned his attention to her. His expression was more serious than she'd ever seen it, and she was instantly worried at that alone. "What?" she asked.

"Marian, the reason Robin knows about your betrothal is because, well …" Edward started, but Robin held up his hand, his eyes never leaving Marian's face.

"Because I'm your betrothed," he said, his voice very quiet. There had been no hint of teasing in his eyes.

Marian had stared at him blankly for a very long time, sure she hadn't heard him correctly. "Beg pardon?" she finally managed, but her voice had come out in a half-squeak, half-croak, and she hated herself for it.

Robin had inclined his head toward the door then. "Walk with me?" he'd asked, and since that was a first in and of itself -- Robin usually just _told_ people what they were going to do, he never asked -- Marian had conceded.

She'd followed him out to the old oak tree on the edge of her property. Neither of them had spoken at first. Marian had watched him out of the corner of her eye, taking in his form in the dusky light of the sunset. She felt ridiculous, not knowing what to say to him. He was still _Robin_, nothing had changed.

"How long have you known about this?" she asked him, trying her best to keep her voice steady.

Robin looked up, his expression thoughtful. "They told me last year, that I was betrothed to you."

"Why wasn't I told last year, then?" Marian had asked, wondering at the curious way her heart sped up.

Robin had sucked in his breath sharply, as if he knew she wouldn't like what he was going to say. "In case I wanted to say no. That way, your feelings wouldn't have been hurt."

Marian narrowed her eyes. "Because I'd be _so_ upset to lose you, because I'm just a fragile little flower?"

He winced at the anger in her tone. "Marian …"

"But you're here," she said, holding up a hand to silence him. "So you obviously didn't say no."

Robin had looked at her as though she'd grown a second head. He blew out a long breath. "No, I didn't say no! Why would I?" he exclaimed, and Marian blinked in surprise. "Look. Marian. It's not … written in stone or anything. It's just … a good match, according to my parents and yours."

"But what about you?" she asked him sharply, aware that her voice was nearly an octave higher than normal due to the nervousness she was feeling now. "Is it a good match for you? I mean, all the other girls in the village will be _so _disappointed to lose their favorite poet …"

He had silenced her by pressing his lips to hers. Her eyes had widened at the shock of it -- this was the first time he'd ever kissed her. She hadn't even known he'd _thought_ about it before this. But his lips were surprisingly soft, and she found herself getting lost in the moment in spite of herself, until he pulled away from her.

"I don't want to marry those other girls," he told her, his voice ragged. "They're just -- silly girls. I care about you. You're prettier and cleverer and a much better match for me." He reached out and touched her cheek softly then. "You know me better than anyone, Marian. When you look at me, I know you're _really_ seeing me, all the way to my soul."

Marian's mouth had twitched a little at that. "Enough with the melodramatics, Robin," she said wryly.

He sighed affectedly, the way he so often did when she called him out on his theatrics. "You can still say no," he said, pulling something out of his pocket. "But if you'll have me, I think … I think we'd be good for each other." He opened his hand then, and showed her what he held.

"My mother's ring?" she gasped.

"Your father gave it to me, to give to you. If you want it."

Marian had blinked, but nodded. "I do. I do want it, Robin. As long as you do."

He'd tilted her chin up with one finger to look into her eyes. "I want you to be my wife, Marian. Of all the girls out there, you're the … the one most like me. You understand me better than anyone. And that is _not_ more of my 'nonsense', Marian, it's the truth." She'd smiled then, because his expression was so adamant and earnest. "I know you don't think much of me, Marian, at least, not in that way," he continued, "but I _do_ care about you. And I will take care of you."

She had been startled to hear him say that. "Don't think much of you?" she asked him. "Why do you think that?"

Robin had narrowed his eyes at her. "It's fairly obvious. Whenever I see you in town, you can barely keep that haughty look off your face."

She'd been chagrined at that. "That's not … not because I don't think of you like that," she admitted, feeling her cheeks redden.

His eyebrows shot up at that and he grinned at her cheekily. "Oh? Do tell, this is a fascinating revelation."

"Oh, grow up," she scolded him. "I just … never wanted to be one of those girls that follow you around, simpering like a moron."

The mischievous look left his face then, to be replaced with a much more serious one. "You could never be a moron," he'd told her earnestly, capturing a lock of her dark hair between his fingers and staring at it in wonderment. She'd never seen him look at her this way.

"No? I might be, considering that I'm asking you to give me the ring now." She'd held out her hand, and hoped fervently that he wouldn't notice that it was shaking.

He'd laughed then, and she had too, and he'd slid her mother's amethyst ring onto her left ring finger, and they'd both stared at it for a long moment.

She thought she might break down crying, or something equally horrifying, but he'd had to go and ruin the moment. Grinning at her, he'd winked and leaned in closer, and pressed another light kiss to her lips. "So. You _do_ like me," he'd said teasingly, a glint in his blue eyes.

She had pushed him back and shaken her head at him. "Stop thinking those thoughts right now. We're not married yet."

"Close enough though, I'd say!" he'd whined.

The six months after they had "officially" become betrothed had been some of the best of Marian's life. She and Robin had been well on their way to being amid the very lucky -- those few people who actually _did _get to marry someone that they loved wholeheartedly.

He would bring her wildflowers, and make up awful poems that never failed to elicit a smile from her in all their absurdity.

They had spent more time alone together then, too, and at first, Marian had been nervous about what his expectations might be. But she'd quickly learned that he had none, that he merely wanted to be in her company as much as possible.

She started to discover that he was very much a romantic, that he actually _believed_ some of the drivel he spouted. She learned that his blue eyes took on a certain heat when he looked at her, and it had made her giddy and uneasy, all at once. She learned that his lips were soft but forceful when he kissed her, that he liked it when she ran her fingers through his hair, and that he trembled if she spoke softly near his ear. She found that the playful, irreverent boy that she had grown up with possessed a fierce dreamer's soul and a noble, loyal heart.

He was a good man, very easy to fall completely in love with.

And before she knew it, her seemingly foolish old hopes and dreams of having a life with this man had become her reality. She was going to marry Robin of Locksley, be his bride, be with him _forever_. As this revelation settled upon her, she opened herself up to him more and more. She kissed him with more passion, she teased him with less innocuous undertones. There was no need to hold anything back from him any more … he was going to be _hers _in every way in just a few short months.

But then, with no warning at all, he'd announced that he was leaving. Not just leaving. Going to the Holy Lands. Thousands of miles away.

The night he'd told her, she had known something was wrong the moment he'd appeared at her window. He hadn't been full of smiles and jokes, like he normally was. He had crossed the room to her, and taken her face in his hands, and kissed her with an intensity she had never felt from him before. "Marian," he'd said, pulling away from her, his voice a rough whisper. "My Marian."

"What is it, Robin?" she'd asked him, placing her hands on his wrists, suddenly full of concern.

"I'm leaving, my love," he told her.

She had smiled at that; he often went on trips with his father, this was hardly noteworthy. "All right," she'd said lightly. "I assume you won't be gone long … are you going to London?" Her eyes had lit up at that. "Going to buy me a wedding present, are you?" She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, and it was then that she'd noticed the pain in his eyes.

"Marian," he'd said, and there had been tears sparkling in his eyes.

She had been aghast … she'd never seen him like this. "You're … not going to London, are you?"

"The Holy Lands," he'd said, and Marian felt all the air leave her lungs. "The king needs men." He'd reached out to take her hand, but she had swatted him away.

She didn't want to cry, but she knew she wouldn't be able to hold in the tears for long. But she _wouldn't_ let him see her like that. For all that she had opened up to him over these past months, she still had her stubborn pride, pride that _refused_ to let him see her weak.

"Just like that, Robin? Then go. Just _go_. If you're so set on leaving Locksley, then leave."

"Marian," he had said, and his voice had been pleading, the look on his face one of absolute anguish. He had pulled her close to him and held her as if she were the only thing keeping him from sinking. "I don't _want_ to go, don't you understand? I _have _to."

She could see it in his eyes -- his heart was breaking. And that was _fine _with her, because he'd just smashed hers into a million little pieces, and anything he could do, she could do _better_. She'd slid the ring off her finger and thrust it into his hand. "You go to the Holy Lands, and you do what you _have _to do," she had told him angrily. "But you can't ask me to wait for you. I won't."

As soon as she'd said those words, she'd known they'd been a lie. In her heart, she knew that she would wait for Robin of Locksley forever.

After all, wasn't that what she was doing now, nearly seven years later, standing by an old oak tree, waiting for him to come home?

"What do you know?" she said to the moonless forest. "I'm one of those simpering morons, after all."

"_My _Marian? A moron? Surely you jest." The voice came from the darkness before she could see him, but her face broke into a grin nonetheless.

"You're back," she said, relief flooding her as soon as he came into view.

"Well, well. Were you _worried _about me, Marian?" he teased.

"Stranger things have happened," she retorted dryly, rolling her eyes.

He came to stand beside her, and touched her cheek softly. "You are _freezing_," he said. "Why aren't you back at camp underneath lots of blankets?"

"I couldn't sleep," she said, shrugging as if it didn't matter.

"Marian …"

"Where have you been?" she demanded.

He sighed heavily. "It's a long story. I'll tell you in the morning, with the rest of the lads. I'm _tired_ now, though, and I just want to sleep."

"I thought you were dead!" she exclaimed then, feeling her patience snap, feeling a rush of emotions that she had kept under lock and key come bubbling to the surface. "You were gone for _five years_, Robin, and I thought you were dead."

He took her into his arms, and stroked her hair, shushing her soothingly. "But I came back, didn't I?"

"You did," she conceded. "But someday you might not."

She felt, rather than heard, him chuckle, with her head resting against his chest. "Is that what this is about? You don't have to worry, Marian. You know I always come back to you. Like pigeons."

Marian made a face at that. "How romantic," she retorted flatly.

"But it _is_ romantic!" Robin argued. "Think about it. A bird, flying thousands of miles just to find the one, out of _thousands_ of other birds, that's meant only for him?"

Marian smiled in spite of herself. "I guess you have a point," she admitted.

"You _guess_?" Robin released her from his embrace and threw up his hands in mock frustration. "You are too cynical, Marian. Far too cynical."

"I am not!" she cried indignantly. She couldn't see his face in the darkness, but she was sure he was giving her his "whatever you say, m'lady" look. She sighed heavily. "I was just worried about you tonight, that's all. Is that _so_ terrible? I mean, you're to be my husband soon, and I'd rather like to make sure that this time, you don't go running off again before the wedding."

"Ouch," Robin said, his tone playful, but she could hear the faintest tinge of hurt in his voice.

She didn't respond, instead, she looked down and tried to force the painful memory of watching him walk away from her, all those years ago, with the saddest expression on his face as he looked back at her one last time. Losing him once had hurt her more deeply than she would ever admit … she couldn't bear to think that it might happen _again_. She could bear even _less _the thought of him dying.

She felt him come around behind her then, and wrap his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him, and he rested his chin on her shoulder. "I should've married you seven years ago," he whispered in her ear. "I should _never _have left you, and I never will again, God willing. I love you, Marian, and I want you to _believe me_ when I say that to you."

"I do believe you," she told him. "Just don't die on me, all right?" She turned her head a little, enough so that she could brush her lips against his. "I'm not quite done with you yet." He turned her around in his arms, backed her up against the old oak tree, and deepened their kiss. His hands were at her waist, her hands in his hair, and she wondered if anything had ever been more _right_ than the two of them, together. Part of her yearned so badly for something she didn't even have words for yet. She knew she wanted him, that she had _always_ wanted him.

Before, she'd been afraid of giving herself to anyone. But she wasn't afraid any more, at least not of _this_. She was afraid of them dying, afraid of never getting another chance. They weren't married yet, but he was hers, and she his, in every other way that mattered. "Robin," she whispered against his lips, and he seemed to understand what she wasn't saying.

He tore his lips from hers and looked at her. In the darkness, she could just barely make out his handsome features. "Are you sure?" he asked her, his voice hoarse.

At that moment, the clouds parted and a shaft of moonlight slanted down through the boughs of the trees. In this light, she could see the expression on his face. He was smiling at her. Not his normal, cheeky, up-to-no-good grin, but the tender, adoring smile that he seemed to save only for her. He tangled his fingers in her dark hair, and she found herself grinning back at him, unable to help herself, feeling more serene in this moment than she had felt in a very long time. This was _right_.

"I'm sure," she told him, reaching out with surprisingly steady hands to pull Robin's shirt over his head. For a moment, she just stared at him in the moonlight, tentatively running her fingers over his bare torso. Even with his battle scars, she had still never seen anything quite as beautiful as he was.

"Seven years ago, you left for the Holy Lands, and I regretted, every minute, the life we were never going to have. And then you came back. _This _is our second chance, Robin. We don't know what will happen to us tomorrow or the next day. And I don't want to die without …"

He quieted her by kissing her soundly, taking her face in his hands. "I know, Marian, and I feel the same way. I just want _you _to be certain," he told her. "I don't ever want to hurt you again."

"I'm not certain of anything," she admitted. "_Except_ for you." She put her hands at his waist and pulled him toward her, and kissed him with an intensity she hadn't known she possessed.

She had been waiting for him for her whole life, it seemed, and she was tired of it. Tonight, the waiting would be over. He would -- finally and forever and _truly_ -- be hers.

The moon had disappeared behind the clouds again, but it didn't matter, because that night, they both saw stars.


End file.
